


A Quiet Victory

by avianscribe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Adventures in baking, Cameo Appearance by Clarus Amicitia, Gen, Ignis and Noctis as children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 18:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe
Summary: When Noctis is badly injured in the Marilith attack, Ignis tries to find something he can do to make the young prince smile.





	A Quiet Victory

**Author's Note:**

> A little one-shot I wrote to console myself for some zine rejections. XD Nice part of not getting into a zine: I can share these right away!

That day, they woke Ignis too early.

Their voices filtered into his dream, talking over his head -- but the hand on his shoulder, shaking him, was what woke him at last.

“Ignis, sweetie?”

“... nnngh?”

“Ignis, I know it’s early, and I’m sorry… You need to wake up, dear.”

“... Mum?”

“Sweetie, you’re needed at the Citadel.”

Ignis blinked the sleep from his eyes. The Citadel… that meant _Noctis._ He bolted up in bed.

He dressed in a rush. His mother whisked him out to the Crown-issue sedan that arrived for him. She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead as he buckled himself in. “Be strong,” she said. “Be strong for Noctis.”

She didn’t say why.

At the Citadel he wasn’t allowed to see the prince. Not right away.

The grown-ups around him murmured in hushed tones, but no one really told him what was wrong. The sun was high, and usually by this time he and Noctis would be sitting at lessons. Or nestled together on a bench in the royal library, looking through books on the Cosmogony. Or exploring the gardens together. Ignis had found a newt yesterday and he wanted to take Noctis to see if it was still there…

But that wouldn’t happen today.

Instead, he stood outside Noctis’s closed chamber door for a long time. Citadel staff milled about. Everyone hovered and puttered and eyed the door and whispered about daemons. When he tired of standing, Ignis sat on a bench opposite the door. Doctors came and went. Maids rushed to and fro, bearing towels and blankets and pillows and trays of food that came full and left full.

Then the King himself swept through the corridor, surrounded by a dozen people who all stopped at the door to Noctis’s rooms. The King entered alone, and his Shield stood with his back to the door, scrutinizing everyone. The dozen people melted away.

The King was in Noctis’s room for a long time.

Clarus Amicitia barely acknowledged Ignis. No one did. Ignis just sat and worried, and wondered what had happened -- what was so wrong that Noctis was closed away in his room, with doctors and maids and his father, and he wasn’t eating? And _why couldn’t Ignis be with him?_ Was it that he was too young yet -- too small? Ignis was _nine._ He could do things. He could help. They just needed to tell him what to do.

Ignis stared at his patent leather shoes and fretted so loud in his head that he didn’t hear the door open, nor the soft noise of movement, until someone _else’s_ shoes appeared in his field of vision. He blinked at them, then followed the legs up until he met the eyes of King Regis, looking down at him with soft concern in a face full of sorrow.

“Master Scientia,” the King said, and he knelt.

Ignis blinked at the King. Somehow it didn’t feel right that the king should kneel, so he stood. King Regis continued to kneel and put a hand on Ignis’s shoulder.

“Noctis is very ill, son,” he said. “He… he was hurt last night, in an attack.”

Ignis's gasp, small and fragile, echoed in the corridor.

King Regis’s hand felt heavy on Ignis’s shoulder. “We will be taking him to Tenebrae to see the Oracle -- to see if she can help him. We may be gone for some time.”

“Oh,” Ignis managed. “Er. Yes, sire.” He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t, not in front of the King.

“Would you like to see him before we go?”

Ignis bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.

King Regis gave him a small smile and stood. With his hand still on Ignis’s shoulder, he guided him into Noct’s room.

The lights inside were dim. Noctis lay too still. The white bed linens that framed his dark hair made him look very small indeed. Ignis thought he might shatter, seeing his friend -- his _brother --_ looking so vulnerable. He didn’t _quite_ run to Noct’s bedside. Noct’s hand lay limp on the comforter, and Ignis gingerly picked it up. It was still warm. Ignis wondered if King Regis had been holding it.

Ignis’s eyes burned and he blinked tears from them. He didn’t want to cry in front of King Regis, but he couldn’t help it. He only just managed to stay silent. He refused to bawl like a child. He was Noct’s Hand, Noct’s _brother._ He had to be strong for him.

On the bedside table, a blue stone carving of a fox gleamed in the low lamplight. Ignis stared at it and tried to stop crying.

Behind him, King Regis sighed. “I am sorry we can’t take you with us, son,” he said. “I trust you to remain strong for him -- to continue in your tutoring until he returns.”

“I will,” Ignis choked.

 

* * *

 

And he did.

He did, and Noctis was gone for days and _days._ Ignis came to the Citadel still, but the rooms were empty and dull, and the tutors subdued. Ignis was, too. Exploring the gardens alone wasn’t the same. The books in the library couldn’t hold his attention. His mind was filled with the memory of Noctis, tiny and pale and limp on his wide bed. He almost wished he _hadn’t_ chosen to see him, if that was how he would always remember his friend now.

As the days stretched into weeks, Ignis began to wonder if he would ever see Noctis again. If Noctis would need him anymore. But anytime those thoughts trailed through his mind, he reminded himself that the King trusted him to “remain strong” -- and so he would. He sequestered his doubts and tucked into his studies, determined to become what Noctis needed him to be.

 

* * *

 

Then Noctis returned.

Ignis was told in advance what to expect. He was prepared to see Noctis sitting stiffly in a wheelchair, instead of running in to join him.

Where before Noctis had been boisterous and noisy, now he was quiet. They still had lessons together, but they were shorter, “for the prince’s health”. When it was time for exercise, Ignis went to martial arts training alone, while Noctis went to physical therapy. Noctis couldn’t climb trees in the gardens anymore -- and even though Ignis pushed Noct’s wheelchair along the paths there, Noctis didn’t seem to enjoy it. He slumped in his chair instead, a distant look on his face.

Noctis no longer laughed.

Ignis didn’t know how to fix it.

No one told him it was his responsibility. In fact, when he asked the adults around him what he could do, they told him he was doing what he could, and need do nothing further. But Ignis watched Noctis every day, watched him shrink on himself, and asked himself what kind of Hand he was, if he didn’t do _something more_.

How he settled on cooking, he wasn’t sure later.

It might have started with the cookies the tutor brought one day. Noctis didn’t exactly smile when he ate them, but after finishing two, said, “Those were good.” Ignis ate his own and took note of the taste.

Not many days later, the cooks sent up steamed broccoli with their cheesy pasta at lunch. Noctis scrunched his nose and refused to try it. Ignis ate all of his _and_ Noct’s, so their caretakers wouldn’t ask. Noctis almost smiled at him. It was more emotion than Noctis had shown to him since his return, and the warmth in his chest almost threatened to spill from his eyes. He managed to collect himself just in time.

Then one quiet afternoon, they sat in the gardens with a small tray of confectionaries. Noctis picked up a fruit tart from the collection and took a small bite. “There was this treat I had in… in Tenebrae,” he said. “It kinda looked like this, but it was different. It was really good.”

It was the first time he’d said anything about Tenebrae to Ignis.

Before going home that afternoon, Ignis slipped into the Citadel Library. He filled his messenger bag with cookbooks.

 

* * *

 

The Citadel Library’s cookbooks were disappointing. They assumed the reader already had a basic knowledge of how to cook. Ignis knew how to put a sandwich together, but that wasn’t the same.  

He pored over the books anyway, tried to work through them -- and that’s how his mother discovered him, curled up by the window in his room, frowning in frustration as he tried to puzzle out what “baking powder” might be and how it was different from “baking soda”. She just smiled at him.

The next day, she took him to a bookstore and helped him find a whole section of “baking for kids” books. He selected a couple of them to take home. That evening, he spent two solid hours with his mother learning measurements and ingredients and kitchen tools.

She must also have slipped information to his tutors, because the following week, on a day that Noctis was otherwise occupied with appointments, they introduced Ignis to the Citadel kitchens, and offered him lessons with one of the royal chefs. He gladly accepted -- and the next day, when he and Noctis went to afternoon tea, he proudly offered Noctis a plate full of lumpy cookies that he had made himself.

 

* * *

 

Over the next months -- with a lot of physical therapy sessions -- Noctis slowly regained the use of his legs. In time, arrangements were made for Noctis to attend public school. Ignis remained with the tutors at the Citadel, learning all he needed for his position as Noctis’s Hand. He rode along with the driver to pick the prince up from school, and spent afternoons with Noctis, completing homework.

And Ignis slowly learned to bake. Once he had several recipes under his belt, tried and tested by Noct himself, Ignis finally tracked down a tart recipe, and the real work began.

If cooking hadn't been a challenge already, the tarts proved to be that and more. The crust was far more fussy than cookie dough, and kept getting stuck in the tiny pans -- which were challenging enough to work with in their own right. Then there was the filling. It was hard to narrow down what was in it based on Noctis's vague description. Ignis had to look at the recipes he could find and piece together something based on the scant information he had. But before he could even do _that,_ he needed to get used to making tarts in the first place.

When Ignis finally managed an attempt that appeared reasonably presentable, he brought some to the citadel to share with Noctis.

“Too sweet,” Noctis said, after taking a thoughtful bite. “And the crust isn't flaky enough.”

That night Ignis made a note on the recipe, and determined to try again.

 

* * *

 

“Too much cream.”

“Not enough filing.”

“Too crumbly.”

And always “The fruit doesn't taste right” even when the result was good.

The criticism never hurt. Ignis wanted to get it right -- and each attempt narrowed it down. But the solution was elusive. Noct’s practically monosilabic criticisms weren’t enlightening enough to be helpful. Ignis had to swallow his frustration over and over again and keep trying.

Sometimes it was a little much. Sometimes he would stuff the results of his faulty baking in the trash and vow “never again!” But always he returned to it. If he left off baking them even for a couple weeks, Noct would come to him with doe eyes and ask if he’d tried again. No begging, no pleading, just a simple “oh” when Ignis told him he hadn’t.

That was enough.

 

* * *

 

When Insomnia fell, it became harder.

A road trip was no place for delicate baking. Running from place to place, often under Imperial pursuit; relying on hunts and trading in their spoils for gil -- and few of their resting places could accommodate the kitchen equipment required for Tenebraean delicacies.

On top of that was the difficulty of finding ingredients. Everything was dearer outside of Insomnia, and harder to come by. Ignis was pretty sure he had the pastry down, but the filling was the trick… and at first, he couldn’t imagine that he would find what he was looking for outside Insomnia rather than in it.

Then he began to notice fruits he’d never seen before. The impasse between Lucis and the Empire meant a world of produce never made it to Insomnia, but was available outside of it. Ignis found himself exploring new flavors, experimenting in ways he’d never had the opportunity to before. He checked every market, every roadside stand, all the stalls in Lestallum, scouring them for the unusual -- for anything he hadn’t tried yet.

His patience would pay off in time. He was sure of it.

 

* * *

 

On a bright day on the Caem Coast, Ignis made his final adjustment. The page had softened and grown stained over the years, and the original recipe -- written in his loose, nine-year-old hand -- was beginning to fade. The page was full of notes added over the years, and now, at last, he was able to pen the final one: Ulwaat berries.

“That’s it,” Noctis said quietly after the first mouthful. “That’s just what I remember.” Then he smiled.

The warmth in Ignis’s chest was celebration enough for this quiet victory.

In the midst of all that had befallen them, it was worth it, Ignis thought. To come to this moment, to know he had made Noctis happy. The time spent was but a small sacrifice. Ignis smiled to himself and tucked the recipe into the back of his notebook.


End file.
